Paladin's Tale
by Rigel Kent
Summary: The Paladin of the North, bearer of the Scepter of Light, journeys ever nearer a new evil beyond all imagining, an indescribable force that threatens the destruction of the realm and all its people. Based loosely on the game.
1. The Sanctum: i

Book I: Paladin's Tale
    Part 1: The Sanctum
    i

* * *

You complained of me, once, when you thought me sleeping, that the trees and vines of your homeland were more wont to succumb to emotion and instinct than I. I objected most vehemently to the complaint, though my pursed lips and hours of silent indignance, had you observed them, would have done little to change your opinion of me.

You were right, of course, my love. As you suspected, I was disciplined at an early age to hold fast the bonds of my heart. It was a lesson hard learned; anger, envy, and selfish desires led me all too frequently to peril. One indiscretion in particular, as fate would have it, led me to an unusual amount of peril indeed-- but at last it led me to you. For that, my love, despite myself, I bless that night in the winter before we met, when I lay with the innkeeper's wife.

I was traveling the King's Road westward from the Ivory Keep, seeking the hillside hamlet of Durant and the wisdom of the monastic order nearby. Winter had not yet yielded its chill grasp to spring, and the day drew to an end sooner than I had planned. As I appoached the inn, naught shone but starlight, diffused by the misting air, and in my fatigue I sprained an ankle heavily on the dismount.

The pain shot through my leg like an amazon's arrow, and I fell to one knee, breathing through my teeth. I must have yelped in pain despite myself, since a chubby woman twice my age appeared quite suddenly in the doorway to tend to me. In hindsight, I have my doubts as to her intentions, but at the time, she was so insistent with her cloying and clinging indulgence, it never occurred to me to tend to myself with the scepter's magic. It also never occurred to me that she was a married woman, and I suppose on that night the notion must have escaped her as well.

Pivvi was her name. She never asked for mine. She carried my satchel over one shoulder and led me by one arm to the stables around back. We spoke briefly of my travels, the weather, the migration patterns of the local songbirds, though the conversation soon turned to incessant flattery about the shine on my boots, my posture and stature, the firmness of my biceps, the silvery sheen of my hair. I bit my lip so as not to blush. We arrived within the inmost stall of the vacant stable, and she bid me remove my boots and lay back upon the hay while she fetched a healer.

I turned my head to gaze through a gap in the slats, considering a hasty retreat, but I hesitated to draw attention to myself so. The illusion of normalcy, to those who wield power such as mine, is a difficult habit to break. And so, like any young and unimportant soldier, scholar, or stablehand, I did as I was told.

She returned with an aging apothecary who resided at the monastery. He was Master Hatchel to those within the order, but Hatch was the name he gave me. I smiled awkwardly and told him he could call me whatever he liked. The odor of patchouly on his robes overpowered all the other stable smells combined. I bit my lip again so as not to gag, and was thankful when he stepped back to the doors, allowing cold night air to spill upon the ground as he prepared a cooling poultice.

Hatch and Pivvi conversed among themselves a while, though Pivvi's gaze hardly broke from where I lay. I felt suddenly naked-- a draft, perhaps. The feeling passed as Hatch began to tend my ankle. My gaze happened upon the load of tools and vials the monk had carried over himself, and a pang of guilt lanced through my heart. Here, this old man with bony fingers and a perpetually tired smile labored needlessly for my benefit, pouring his heart into a wound it would take me but a fleeting exertion of will to undo. I groaned and turned my ear to the ground, commencing self-lecture in my head. 

A sudden silence roused my attention. The old man was looking at me expectantly. "Well, sonny? Would you mind?"

At that moment I noticed Pivvi's hand stroking lazily along my thigh. "No, no, go ahead," I answered hastily, caught off guard. The monk's request, whatever it was, must have been harmless enough, whatever it was. At any rate, it must have been a good sight more innocent than the proposals Pivvi whispered breathily into my ear while the healer's back was turned.

Pivvi sat beside me now, her smile all hospitality but her eyes all hunger. The monk finished his work and trimmed the toenails on both my feet, eliciting a raised eyebrow from me. He dropped the clippings into a spare vial as I watched, confused, then tipped his hat and was on his way, leaving me to Pivvi's tender care.

After all this, far was it for me to refuse a free bed for the night... even if it meant sharing a roll in fresh hay with someone I had hardly met. She must have called in a wyrm-sized favor for me, and I certainly wanted her to be... happy. Wellwishing, to my naive mind, must have been an adequate substitute for love. Before long, she had taken off her clothes, and she helped me to undress. I rolled onto my side to kiss her, and we made hushed and guilty love by a the light of a swinging lantern.

When I pulled away, breathless but unspent, she called me "Angel," and wiped the sweat from my brow with her fingers. I hoped my regret did not show, though I was surprised to read the same in her eyes. I wondered to myself why she should feel such a way about it. I am certain neither of us clung long to any illusion of love.

We lay in strained silence for perhaps an hour, her bosom pressed against my bare back, her arm draped lightly across my chest. A nagging feeling had risen in my stomach and would not subside, even as Pivvi left me to huddle alone in the blankets, even as the lightening gray behind the shuttered window warned of the approaching dawn. My eyes closed at last, and I dreamed of home.

* * *
    
    This story is a fan work inspired by character likenesses and other works from
    the **Magic: The Gathering** trading card game, property of their creator and
    publisher, the venerable Wizards of the Coast. Reader comments and criticism
    are always, always welcome and appreciated. (Trivial diversion: Can you guess
    which "Type 2 deck" is featured in each part?)


	2. The Sanctum: ii

Book I: Paladin's Tale
    Part 1: The Sanctum
    ii (in progress)

* * *

Wan morning light streamed into the stable. Pivvi's voice urged me to wake, her hands tugging insistently at my shoulder. I rolled over, my mind resisting the call of the waking world until an angry man's shout snapped me to attention. At that moment, I knew.

The man I later learned to be the innkeeper stared down at me from the other end of a pitchfork. His rage only intensified as he saw my face. Pivvi wailed and begged for forgiveness-- for herself or for me, I cannot remember. I muttered something apologetic, gathered what little I had taken into the stables with me, and stumbled, half-dressed and in a daze, to my mount.

* * *
    
    This story is a fan work inspired by character likenesses and other works from
    the **Magic: The Gathering** trading card game, property of their creator and
    publisher, the venerable Wizards of the Coast. Reader comments and criticism
    are always, always welcome and appreciated. (Trivial diversion: Can you guess
    which "Type 2 deck" is featured in each part?)


End file.
